Tritocanonical: Speaker and Guardian
by Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant
Summary: The Speaker attempts to answer every Guardian who asks questions about the nature of their foes, the world they live in, and why they fight. As the defacto leader of the Guardians, it is his job to serve as a kind of mentor to them all. For it is his job, and one he takes reluctant pride in. (One-Shot)


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 ** _Speaker and Guardian_**

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 ** _"There has always been a Speaker, an anonymous high priest with a mysterious and powerful connection to the Traveler and its Ghosts. In all the centuries of the City's history, the Speaker's great work has never changed_** — ** _to guide new Guardians, heal the Traveler, and raise our crippled protector from its slumber."_**

Night covered the City, a cool breeze on the air to displace the day's heat. Looming overhead as a watchful mountain, suspended motionless by arcane energies, was the Traveler, a scarred, pockmarked sphere of white and silver. Behind in the distance lay the setting sun, descending beneath an ocean once called the Pacific. Several buildings rose to meet the Sphere, always stopping short of just touching the fractured bottom, its most ragged portion—and taking pride of place was a grand edific where the Consensus met to govern the City.

Vesck leaned against a railing in Tower North, just before the Vitalis, looking over the urban landscape with half indifference and half curiosity. All day—his first day of rebirth—he had been grilled by the Vanguard about his new role as a warrior of Light; introduced to Master Rahool whose Cryptarchy was in a minor turret behind the Hall, where he was expected to turn in any unusual finds out in the field; to Banshee-44 deeper down in his vast forges, Frames, Exos and non-metallic men and women creating weapons and armor, where his new weapon and armor was given to him to replace his Ghost's created armor; and Amanda Holliday, the shipwright. Vesck's face quirked in a smile. That woman had taken one look at his battered and beaten up Arcadia and pronounced it " _fit for nothin' but tha' scrap-heap, lad_."

Cayde-6, his new mentor and who had positively jumped for joy when Vesck presented himself, answered just as laconically: " _Armada, mi'dear, we're terribly short of ships and parts as it is, and every Guardian—as per the Consensus—is required to have his or her own ship_."

" _Not every Guardian is bound for interstellar deployment_ ," the shipwright retorted. " _Just how do you expect me to maintain everything around here is beyond me. If you were in my place, you'd be singin' a different tune_."

" _I'll be happy to swap places with you anytime, certainly beats Zavala's boring lectures and doing nothing while Guardians come in with a new story every other day_." The Exo sighed, and gave a credible impression of exasperation even without expressive features. " _But no, you don't have a Ghost_."

" _And it'd better stay that way_."

Vesck had quietly taken himself off to the side, asking his Ghost questions to things he wanted to know while those two had argued. He felt lost in this new world, so different from… from his old life. In fact he hardly remembered it, only recalling a vague sort of flash and a phantom of pain; and then there was his Ghost before him, whirling happily with joy. That little robot had definitely turned his life upside-down, chattering about Fallen and the Collapse and all of that which made his head spin. That was before he was forced to run for his life.

Here at the Tower—the only functional one left, so he heard—there were literally thousands of Ghosts and only a minute fraction of which were paired with an armored Guardian. It seemed no one stayed long here, always on the move. According to the local gossip someone named Rasputin had devastated a "cabal exclusion zone" on Mars recently (yet again, if the mutterings were to be believed), and so utterly disoriented whatever was there that Guardians were constantly coming and going without a hint of rest. The bounty board was full of all sorts of things, everything from tracking "psions" to collecting "symbiotic leeches", whatever all those meant.

Since Cayde seemed to have forgotten all about him, embroiled in good-natured sniping with Holliday, Vesck decided to explore the Tower on his own. He passed a stairwell leading to the Future War Cult's headquarters, so the insignia and emblem had said, passed another entrance to "Dead Orbit", then somehow wandered over to the opposite side of this confusing Tower. Here he had stopped, to catch his "breath", and then promptly forgot about everything as the Traveler's bulk caught his gaze.

During the walk an exasperated voice had come over the intercom, startling him: " _Fireteam_ … ***sigh*** _why do I have to keep saying this—Fireteam-Dysfunctional-and-that-is-not-my-idea-Martin-to-call-it-that-oh-no-blame-Princess-Uldren-for-that, report in. Zavala out_." Vesck had stayed rooted to the spot for a full minute, wondering if he had heard it correctly, then shrugged and went on.

He certainly had much to think about, and he didn't need a jumpy robot nor a self-deprecating woman to clutter up his thoughts. His Ghost had seen fit to leave him be for now.

"You must be our newest Guardian."

Vesck jumped, and turned. Coming around the Vitalis' walk toward him was a most unusual person—as if there was anything _usual_ about this place to begin with. Dressed completely in white robes covering his whole body—extending to a faceless, angular mask—with no hint of armor that so covered everyone else save for two shoulder-plates, it seemed he had some sort of position of authority here, like Rahool, that equalled or transcended the Vanguard.

"Don't be alarmed," the newcomer said, amusement coloring his voice, "I apologize for disturbing you."

"N—No, you didn't disturb me," Vesck said, ducking his head automatically.

"Nonsense. Every new Guardian always has some sense of disorientation when reawoken. It was no less for Cayde, and no less for you. All started with questions about this place, who we are, and why we're here. You must have plenty to ask."

"Uh, um—" Vesck coughed. "Well, yes, I do have a lot of questions. They just assumed I was briefed already and knew what I was do—"

"Cayde, no doubt. He longs to be out in the field again, and each time someone new comes, he is the first to greet them. Not like Zavala or Ikora. They at least take the time to explain in as few words as possible. So, ask away. I will attempt to answer them."

"Well, then… what's your name, sir?"

"Apologies. I have no name. I am known as the Speaker."

"Why?"

"Because of the Traveler," the Speaker pointed, and a little Ghost flew out almost in unison with the motion. "She lies crippled and broken out there. Deaf, mute, and dumb. Until she wakes, and finds her voice, I speak in her name. Do you know of the Traveler?"

"Yes," Vesck answered immediately. "It's a vague feeling in the back of my mind, but I recognized it as soon as my ship came here. And, forgive me, but, a _she_?"

The Speaker laughed. "So the legends say, from visions granted to us. Others call her the Gardener. But it is good you remember her. That means half of your questions are answered. There is always time to go through the Archives, to learn about our Golden Age and how the Traveler blessed us with unlimited potential. Perhaps your buried memories can be awoken."

"Maybe. So, can you tell me what the Vanguard is? Or what is a Guardian, even."

The Speaker turned and walked to Vesck's other side, slowly, as if he thought better while on the move. At last he said: "Guardians are warriors brought back by the Traveler, to do what she could no longer do. To protect the remnants of her children from her most ancient enemy. All living creatures have a spark of Light in them, synonymous with life, and those with a burning fire are resurrected by the Ghosts, chosen for loyal defense."

"And what are the Ghosts?"

"My memory fails me at times," the Speaker admitted, "but what I do know is this: when the Traveler was broken after her rebuke of our enemy, the Ghosts were created. Some say the scarred portions of the body are what made the originals. I now maintain the birth and life of new Ghosts, using the motes Guardians will into existence through use of their power. They are our companions, to keep us whole as we fight against the Darkness."

"So what of the Vanguard?"

"The only organized military we have. Guardians are too constrained in standard formations. Not against enemies like the Cabal, who are professionals of war. No, we have three Commanders, those who lead the Guardians. A Guardian can go alone, with another, or in a fireteam of three. Sometimes six, others twelve. There's no one way we do things. Cayde, the Hunter Vanguard. He is in charge of what might be called scouts and outriders in olden days; Ikora, the Warlock Vanguard, she who is in charge of learning the nature of our enemy and the Traveler; Zavala, a true warrior, and the bulk of the Vanguard rests with his charge.

"The Vanguard is also in charge of defending Earth from outside intrusion. The Traveler protects us directly with her shields of innate Light, repelling any ship that does not carry a Guardian, but even so we're vulnerable to attack. Several years ago the Fallen—which you've encountered already—organized a massive force to attack us. We barely held our own, but we survived the Twilight Gap. The fortified City you see here is the result of that, drawn closer underneath her. Because of Twilight Gap, the Consensus decided to take a more proactive stance in our war. Strike-teams of Guardians were dispatched almost daily after the Battle, and still are whenever Guardians on patrol identify a possible threat, be it Fallen, Hive, or more recently, Cabal. The Fallen we've fought the most in recent years; the Hive we have not seen since the last offensive to take the Moon."

The Speaker sighed.

"You mentioned the Darkness," Vesck inquired in the lull. "What is it?"

"It is what we call the enemy collectively. The Hive worship it, so we know it is more than an abstraction. The Cabal, as far as we know, have no interest or even knowledge of it. The Fallen, well, as their name implies, know it all too well."

"Light versus Dark," Vesck mused. The he laughed. "A classic dualism. I like it."

"I hope I have answered your questions, Guardian."

"Vesck, name's Vesck."

"Yes, yes," the Speaker waved it off. "The Darkness lays claim to our Inner Worlds—the Moon lies in the Hive's grasp, Mars in the Cabal. The Fallen are everywhere else. The House of Winter is on Venus, Devils here on Earth, Exile from Twilight Gap on the Moon. This small portion of our homeworld is all we have."

"What of Jupiter? Saturn?"

"None of our ships can reach them as of yet. The Cryptarchs are looking for technology that will enable us to do so. As it is, we can just barely reach the Reef, and the Awoken are secretive. The Reef, before you ask, is where those who fled the Collapse went. Everyone who could get on a ship went with them—something happened to them out there, and they returned changed. It's not entirely Dark, nor yet of the Light, but they are not hostile. These are the Awoken. Zavala, our resident Awoken, has tried time and again to talk to them, but they ignore us. We need allies if all of us are to survive. If the Traveler goes, we all go."

"This is where I come in," Vesck said confidently. "I was reborn by my Ghost, I can fight."

"Thank you, Guardian. The others have fallen into compliancy, expecting every new Guardian will fight for us. No one gives a choice to them anymore."

"Well, after listening to what you've been telling me, how can I _not_ refuse?"

The Speaker turned from the City to Vesck—Vesck could see his human features reflecting in the mask. It seemed behind that mask an enormous weight had been lifted. "Thank you, Vesck. You're are the twenty-seventh new Guardian that has entered. We are almost at full strength again. Something is coming, and I fear for our lives." He waved a hand over the City. "For all of our lives. Dead Orbit would have us run, but no matter; we'll be followed until our extermination. Future War has the measure of it, and New Monarchy is stanchly for defense here and now. Choose wisely among them, if you wish, but beyond this I offer no recommendation."

"I'll think of it," the human Hunter promised, grinning.

"Good. Do you have questions about our enemies?"

"Nope, I can learn of them on my own time. There's gotta be a use for my good ol' lightbulb. Thank you for everything, sir. You've cleared up a lot of confusion."

" _Hey Vesck, where are ya_!"

The Speaker chuckled. "Cayde has remembered his duty. Go find him."

"Yes, sir."

"Light be with you, and may your Ghost guide and guard you." The Speaker nodded, while Vesck thumped his chest in a military manner. Then the Hunter turned and departed.

The Speaker watched him go, remembering a time when he himself had been that eager. But not now, not since he had been entrusted with the creation of new Ghosts. They were built of inferior metals, and not of the Traveler's own "flesh and bone"—Relic iron from Mars was certainly a boon in this time. But it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

A Ghost flew from behind and hovered next to him. "You've told him too much," it said, in a feminine voice. "He'll spend days wrapping his mind around it all, and that while he's fighting incomprehensible foes."

"No. He asked enough. I gave him a short lesson of our history, the what and why of things he had asked, and that is all. He offered no more questions, and I volunteered no answers. I shan't burden his mind with more than he can handle."

"But the reemergence of the Vex! What's to say Cayde won't send him to Venus! That Exo is bad news, I tell you."

"Peace, Yelena, Cayde is intelligent, and if he does err, his peers will correct him. Should there need be, Ikora could take over tutoring of Vesck. Warlocks are not so dissimilar from Hunters. Besides, you know it is standard for new Guardians to be assigned Earth, much less a new planet."

"I still don't like it."

"Would you rather have me tell him vague platitudes? All youngsters have questions, Yelena, and it is best to answer them so they will be satisfied. Like Vesck said, he can learn more on his own time, and I've mentioned the Archives. You don't need to be worried for every youngster that comes here. They all know the risks, sooner or later. It is a rare time that one isn't revived in an enemy-infested area."

The silvery drone sighed, her hexagonal parts rotating in irritation and defeat. "I just fear for them. I don't want a repeat of the Disaster. I don't want to mourn yet another of our fallen comrades. By all that is good and holy, I just want a reprieve from all of this."

"And one day you'll get it, Yelena. Come," he started walking, and she began to follow, "Zavala will want to discuss about the Cabal strikes. The sooner we take them out, the sooner your mind can be at ease."

There was nothing she could muster to counter that.

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A/N: This is my interpretation of what the Speaker talks about to every other Guardian (of course he can't speak to all of them) who asks. Not that everything is verbatim; he answers according to question, and there'd be Guardians who ask different things. I've always pictured him as a helpful guy, and that he had more to say, even in the cutscenes, but Bungie just cut it out because, meh.

Oh, and I do think those Motes of Light that we give him are the souls of new Ghosts. It makes sense, and where do all of those different shells come from if not constructed by the City itself? But the original Ghosts—like the shells Dinklebot and Nolandroid have when they first awaken you—those would be thinning indeed. As for the _Fever_ reference to _Jayfeattheris Awesome_ 's fic, it's more of a shoutout than any true melding of them. The timeline's a bit screwy. *shrugs*

Reviews are welcome.


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